


Sanity

by melodious_me



Series: Gotham Reconstruction [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Anorexia, Arkham Asylum, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Depression, Gen, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodious_me/pseuds/melodious_me
Summary: After her latest suicide-attempt, Jasmine's mother made sure that her daughter finally received the support she needed from the best of the best. In Gotham the best psychiatrists work at Arkham and though Jasmine's slowly getting better, it was just a matter of time until another accident that Arkham's so famous for happens. And Jasmine suddenly finds herself in the middle of all that madness.





	1. For Better or Worse

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks for giving my story a try.  
> I always need an own character to evolve my plot around, so don't be confused if you can't recall a Jasmine from Batman. The story takes place about two years after the events of the Arkham Knight. During the enormous reconstruction process going on in Gotham the city has decided to restore Arkham Asylum again as well. This time, it's supposed to be not only for the criminally insane, but among other new facilities, there is the psychiatric youth facility, PYF.  
> I'll try to update every two weeks but it occasionally might take a little longer. And of course I'm always happy about criticism.  
> And now, enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was necessary. She knew that. She wanted it. But it didn't mean it was easy. Nor did it ultimately mean it was the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning: This chapter contains scenes of self-harm.  
> I you're not comfortable with it, don't read it.

I knew it was necessary. There was no point in denying I actually needed professional help. But… Wasn’t there any other place?

“Mum, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Nonsense. They have the best psychiatrists there.”

“Just because they have the worst lunatics.”

“Who will be far, far away from you.” She didn’t know that for sure. I hadn’t checked in yet, after all. “We only want the best for you, sweetie. Honestly. And we are going to miss you. But we’ll visit you as often as possible and we’ll call and we’ll Skype or mail or whatever is possible, yeah?” I nodded, a wave of desperation flashing over me. “You feel like you can go to bed yet?” I nodded, even faked a yawn. The surge in me was rising again and I didn’t have the composure to fight it down, wanted to give in. “Alright. Good night, sleep tight, sweetie.”

“And don’t let the bed bugs bite.”, I finished with a tired grin and headed upstairs. I waited five minutes but nobody came after me. Assuming I was save I loosened the bandage on my lower arm and started to scratch open the healing cuts, feeling alive through the pain. Blood began to spark through, forming larger growing pools before it started to run down my arm and I caught it with a handkerchief. The adrenaline kicked in like a drug, made me feel all anxious and shaky and God, did I need it. But there was something missing. There were sweet little spots on my arm that didn’t burst into flames, that were calm and not hurting a bit and I hated every single one. I felt incomplete. I dragged out my knife from the very bottom of the drawer of my nightstand and cut myself. Once, twice, often. Until my whole arm was on fire, my body was shaking from adrenaline, my eyes burnt from tears I was never going to cry.

It took quite some time until the rush ebbed and I glanced at my arm in utter disgust. I promised myself to not do that again. Admittedly I made that promise several times and broke it just as often, but my tracker told me this morning that I had won the fight for two weeks now. Time to reset the tracker. To me it didn’t matter anymore. Tomorrow I was going to receive professional help for the mess my mind was. Tomorrow I was going to check in at Arkham Asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me on my [Tumblr](https://melodious-me.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Built in a day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time in Arkham both rushes and seems to stand still at the same time. Being better and being worse come in tidal waves. And hope sometimes only is a far off memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, serious warning:   
> This chapter's basically full of depression, self-harm, suicide attempts, eating disorder and an attempted rape. It'll get better in the next chapters, but if you have trouble with any of the above mentioned I advise you not to read any further.
> 
> And though it's not a cheerful chapter: enjoy.

“Good Morning Jasmine, how are you doing?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’m not quite sure yet. Where’s Dr. Quinzel?” Dr. Quinzel had been my therapist during my first stay in Arkham.

“She left us. You were one of her last patients, I assume. Nobody expected it after her promotion.”

“Promotion?”

“She was allowed to work with the cases that are involuntarily here.”

“A promotion here means that your patients are a little more insane than they were before? Tempting.”

“You seem to have a unique sense of humor.”

“I’d rather call it cynicism, but do as you please.”

“So, you aren’t feeling good today, are you?”

“Not anymore. I liked Dr. Quinzel. Can we get over with this? I have had breakfast today as usual and didn’t throw up, I took my medicine as usual and it also still is in my tummy and the surge to hurt myself is growing but I hope for the pills to fight it down in time. And even if they don’t I’m rather sure it’s gone until I found a weapon.”

“I’m very proud of you that your eating habits are improving. On a scale from 1 to 10, how strong is the surge? One being a murmur in the background and ten-“

“Being screaming insanity, I got it. As I said, it’s growing and currently leveling at… five or six.”

“Any ideas how you can cope with it?”

“You could sedate me a little more.”

“That bad?” I shrugged. I simply had given up. Surrendered to my disease and to the fact that I wasn’t going to leave this place any time soon. I had spent a long time sedated, felt more like a zombie than a human being. And it wasn’t that bad. The feeling of being wrapped in cotton was a lot more pleasant than the destructive voice in my head.

“I’ll think about it. For now, let’s just get on with the usual talk. What has happened since your last stay?” I laughed dryly.

“It’s been almost five years.”

“I have time. And you don’t have to finish today.” I wasn’t in the mood for this shit.

“I celebrated my birthday four times and Christmas even five.” She didn’t comment on it at all and I was wondering what exactly she was thinking. Whether she was just waiting for me to continue or already labeled me as another stubborn teenager who was just not able to face their problems head-on. And she wasn’t wrong about it but I was well aware of so many of my problems, their results and the bad coping mechanisms I had developed over the time. I was aware, I was perceptive and mostly I was too proud to be labeled. I sighed and started to talk.

“It got better afterwards. There were two or even three years when everything was alright. Or as close as it could possibly get. I had my lows, but that’s life. Everybody has periods when they can barely motivate themselves to do anything and I was and am still going through hormonal changes and it was never that bad. Until one year ago. I managed school somehow. My grades dropped a little, but not significantly or alarmingly. I couldn’t get out of bed on the weekends. I let myself go. The few friends I have only saw what I wanted them to see. My parents… were a little more difficult, but not impossible to fool. I started to hurt myself again.” 

“Again?”

“I did it before my first suicide attempt.”

“None of it is written in your file.”

“It wasn’t obvious and I didn’t tell anyone but my best friend. That’s why. It was subtle because I was rubbing, scratching and somehow tearing off the upper layer of my skin. It looked like I fell during sports or cut a corner. Things that happened to me every once in a while anyways. This time it was by far more obvious. But it was fall, so long sleeves were an easy trick. I got caught in the addictive undertow of pain. So when springtime came, people noticed, my parents were worried sick, I felt guilty. My Mom asked me why I didn’t say anything. We had made an agreement that in case I got worse again I’d just tell her. And I didn’t. I applied for therapy over summer in town and developed a slight eating disorder. Then it got better. Not only better but really good. I aced my finals but my Mom insisted on me going to therapy anyways. So I did. And mid-summer, it got worse again. Worse than I’ve had before. I cut myself, didn’t eat, attempted suicide and instead of being sent here only to be gone in a few weeks again my Mom took me home and made sure I had a more permanent place here. And here we are.” She nodded.

“Okay. For now. What do you plan on doing when you get out?” I shook my head, a bitter smile on my face.

“Too soon. I can’t think past tomorrow and I don’t want to. I’m proud of every morning I manage to get up and every evening I go to bed because that means that I survived another day without killing myself. I can’t tell you what will be next week or even in a few months or years.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about?,” she asked after a small moment of silence. And I gave myself the time to think about it. To think about whether I wanted her to know that my feet wanted to run away from here, my fingers were itching to somehow tear my arms open, to enlighten in the feeling of pain. It sounded a bit over-dramatic and just about as painful and pathetic, but that was exactly what I needed. A way to use and show all this destructive energy I had in me.

"No. Not today."

"Alright. Have a good day then. We'll meet tomorrow. Talk a little about your therapy here. Group therapy, your room, eating groups and all that stuff. Organize your stay here a little."

"Joy." I was so not interested in group therapy or meeting any people at all. Damaged teens, so much like me and yet so different. I didn't want to share my problems with even more people, was not willing to listen to other people's problems, was not able to deal with it. Didn't want to know the fates of them. Couldn't deal with it. There was an odd kind of competition. Maybe not even competition. But my reason always wanted to know why I was like this. I had a functional family. A few rather close friends. Was good in school. And yet had an immense surge to kill myself. Occasionally. And then there were the other. Victims of abuse. Emotional. Sexual. Abused by strangers. Family. Denied by society. Class. Family. Friends. Had to get over loss. Death. Sorrow. Mourning. It seemed to be perfectly reasonable for them to snap. Be depressed. Insecure. Anxious. But me? It made me feel whiney. Overexaggerating everything. With a mind simply not suitable for this society. It made me sick.

"Jasmine? Jasmine? Hey! You were drifting. Are you sure you'll be alright for today?"

"No! No, I'm fucking not! I'm fidgeting, I'm shaking, I can't breathe, I want to hurt, want to hurt myself, want the fucking pain I shouldn't want. You only mentioning other people makes me panic. I'm not alright. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not." I couldn't breathe. Could not breathe. Was suffocating. I gagged dryly, felt saliva running down my chin, gagged again, still had no air in my lungs. I heard a loud noise, adding to the ache in my head, felt something touching me, my head, arms, guiding me forward. I felt my knees painfully connecting with the floor, slumped forward, choked, coughed and watched my vision narrow until everything went black.

 

***

 

I was told that I blacked out because of a panic attack that had made me  hyperventilate. One of the first things Dr. Cassidy said to me was that group therapy wouldn't be a thing for quite some time. I managed a dry snort at that. Other than that I wasn't able to say anything for several weeks. Until I found ways and means to severely hurt myself. Afterwards heavy medication or better sedation was due but it was as if the pain had been a valve to let out everything that kept me from talking. It was difficult at first to get along with Dr. Cassidy. Mostly because I was in a really bad shape. My body didn't belong to me, I was feeling out of my skin and so I neglected it. And sometimes, as if to make sure I wasn't, I hurt myself. But nothing got to me. Nothing reached me.  
  
I was checking on whether my body still belonged to my mind and had just finished opening up every healing scratch I found on my body when the door opened. I expected a nurse to come in, look at me in this typical mixture of mild exasperation, disgust, pity and resignation when I noticed she had company. My parents. The door shut quickly again and all I heard was my mother’s mortified gasp. A moment later the nurse returned, murmuring something. I recognized my name but that was about it. I felt blood dripping from my fingers. I remained motionless as the nurse pushed me around in my wheelchair. Didn't warn her when my head slumped forward, chin against my chest and I left this horrible world for some blissful moments of unconsciousness.  
  
I recognized the hospital wing before I was even aware I had regained consciousness, a silent testament to how often I had woken up here in the past... What exactly was it? Days? Weeks? It could have been months and I wouldn't have noticed. I blinked lazily, not willing to open my eyes only to face this blank world with days that were all the same. Only then did I notice that someone was holding my hand, stroking my hair soothingly. 

"Mom?" Where did she come from? Why was she here?

"I'm here, little witch.", she whispered, a relieved smile on her face. "I'm here." I noticed the tears on her cheeks.

"What'ya doin' here?," I mumbled, not fully in control over my tongue.

"We thought we'd visit our princess on her birthday and surprise her." Birthday? Surprise?

"Well, that you did."

"And so did you. Please don't scare me like this again, Jazz. Please." Don't do what? Birthday? Scared? My mind was like cotton and totally useless, my eyelids growing heavy.

"Tired."

"You can go to sleep, little witch. Just close your eyes."

"Stay. Don' wan'ya t'be gone." Had talking always been this difficult?

"I'll stay here. Promise. Close your eyes. And when you open them, I'll still be here. I won't leave you." The corners of my eyes were burning and I felt a single tear running down my cheek. My Mom continued to stroke my hair, hold my hand and I allowed myself to close my eyes for a second. And that second was enough to fall asleep.

 

***

It got better afterwards. My parents’ visit and especially how it went south rather quickly had given me part of my identity back. My Mom sitting next to me, praying I’d stay alive on the very day she had given me life, that was finally something that reached me, that provoked an emotion, any kind of emotion. I didn’t feel entirely alien in my body anymore. And as horrible as it was: It had helped. I was slowly getting a grip on my life again. The first thing I noticed that had changed was that I remembered again. There were memories of the past days, I could recall what I’ve had for dinner the day prior or when my parents had last visited me. It was relieving. And it caused grief. Two weeks after my birthday was my one year anniversary of being in Arkham. I had barely any memories. I knew it wasn’t all black. I knew there had been times that I had been better, but I didn’t know how many of them there had been, nor how long they had lasted. It was all a blur, all lost. I felt like I had lost something precious, like someone had stolen a part of my life. Dr Cassidy had said that my illness had stolen that year. But I couldn’t punch my illness in the face, couldn’t scream at her until my voice was hoarse, couldn’t fight her the way I wanted to. Instead, Dr Cassidy had me write letters to her. Several ones. Filled with anger, frustration, defeat, sorrow - and eventually, a slight hint of acceptance. I had neither seen nor meant it as such, but Dr Cassidy had only smiled as she had pointed it out. The first step of dealing with any kind of possibly chronic diseases was accepting them. I hadn’t reached that point just yet, but I at least had an idea.

“What do you want to do when you get out?”

“If I get out.” By now I had seen enough people who had spent more time on this island than anywhere else. I wouldn’t be surprised if I joined their club.

“When. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Alright. Let’s pretend I’ll stay here for one more year at maximum. Then I’d finfish school. I’d love to study afterwards… Probably something with art. I could imagine working at a museum or an art gallery. Restore paintings or give tours… I think I’d like that.”

“That’s good, you know that? Just a couple of months ago, you weren’t even able to picture the next day. And now you start to reclaim your idea of a future. Hang on to that. I must go now, but we’ll meet again in the evening. Bye, Jasmine.”

“Bye, Dr. Cassidy.”

Two days later, I attempted suicide. Again. It was my third attempt within the fourteen months I had already spent in Arkham. Four if we counted that little stunt on my birthday which hadn’t been a suicide attempt. For me, suicide attempts had to be led by the wish to die. I hadn’t felt any that day. I was just not paying any attention to the blood loss and what just a small amount might cause considering my physical constitution. In my defense: It wasn’t easy here. Else three attempts would have been considered a case of my ‘I want to, but not really’-attitude. I knew myself that well. However, my chances of getting out of here weren’t improving but when I was driven by desperation to a point where my life was totally worthless… Being stuck here never was the worst part in that moment. I couldn’t believe that I had actually thought it, but luckily I didn’t return to my lethargic state of vegetation and after a few weeks of sedation and intensive care I met Dr. Cassidy again.

“Hello Jasmine. How are you doing?”

“Alright. I like the new medication. It’s oddly silent in my head.”

“That’s good to hear. For the moment, we can keep it up.”

“Why only for the moment? Why can’t we just stick to it and I can go home in a few months?”

“With this medication, you won’t be able to participate in normal life. Especially not in school. Your mind is very limited to think only from A to B with no chance of escape. In this aspect, it’s similar to a strong ADHD-medicament. Right now, this is a bliss as long as your destructive thoughts are kept in check. But when you face the world again, you would barely be able to listen to someone talk and keep an eye on the traffic. It’s not save.”

Within the next three weeks, there was another suicide attempt and when I was sitting together with Dr. Cassidy, she had the same look on the face as me.

“Boy, did that go well. And I really thought we had it.”

“Me too. But you were right. The medication really kept my mind tuned to one string of thoughts but all it needed was a little push and I was nuts again.”

“Don’t talk about yourself as if you were insane. I have seen insane and you are nothing like it.”

“No, I just have a severe depression that comes along with strong suicidal thoughts, anorexia and self-harm. So just bad coping mechanisms. Equal to a bad immune system to my physical health.”

“Exactly.”

“With other words, my mind has HIV.” Dr. Cassidy looked at me as if she wanted me to take back what I just said.

“You know, one could think that it’s frustrating to work with people like you or especially you because it’s mostly three steps forward, two steps back. But that’s not it. What is frustrating about you is that some days I see you with your brilliant mind, sharp wit and mesmerizing fantasy and the next day your disease has got you in its claws so badly I’m afraid you ain’t gonna make it another time. And a week later your mind is again enhanced as if nothing happened and you can reflect upon it and even joke about it in your own, sarcastic manner. That’s frustrating.”

“You’re telling me?”

“Right, you know that better than me.”

“And I thought that was the point of having depressive lows?”

“Your level of reflection represents a very high IQ. If you weren’t permanently sedated. So yes, it is part of the disease but I’m not used to having conversations like these with my patients, even when they have their better time.”

“I’m flattered.” She laughed.

“That’s what I mean. We just have to find a medication that suits you.”

“Any chance of building an emergency exit into the last one? Because the current one isn’t strong enough. I’m struggling every day.”

“Emergency exit?”

“When my mind gets caught in suicidal thoughts I need to think in two directions to distract me. But just in worst case. I couldn’t even argue with that voice that was telling me how much of a failure I am. I didn’t get the chance to fight. And sitting here again that’s nothing I’d like to experience again. Ever.”

“See, there’s a will to fight and survive. I’ll think of a way. Maybe we could train your brain a little. Or add some neurotransmitter, that… I’ll figure it out. Anything on your mind?”

“I heard about Dr. Quinzel.” Dr. Cassidy stiffened and nodded slowly. “What happened to her?”

“She'ss a victim of our all-time favorite psychopath. I shouldn’t even call him that. He charmed her, gave her the feeling like she was the only one to understand him. Like she was the only one he’d open up to. And that’s as flattering as it gets for a psychiatrist. She never saw it coming. That he lured her into his wicked sight of the world. We should have noticed. But during all her supervision talks she seemed to be fully aware of it and made us believe she was using him. “

“When you told me she had been promoted she had snapped, right?”

“Yes. But back then I didn’t dare to tell you anything.”

“It’s fine. So, she’s now imprisoned in Arkham?”

“Yes. And don’t worry, she’s on the other side of the island.”

“If I’d be worried, it wouldn’t be about her.”

“Who else?”

“Those who don’t care about their victims at all. For instance I know that the Clown killed for fun and there’d be nothing fun about killing me. Except if he thinks it’s funny to kill a suicidal girl who is begging for her life. I can see the fun in there. But he’s dead. Quinn has no interest in me. Crane doesn’t kill. That much. With Mr. Dent there’s still a fifty/fifty chance I’ll survive. Croc is a bigger problem. And Zsasz is my biggest concern.”

“You got a good idea of who is imprisoned here and who is a risk for you. Even though I don’t approve of your comment on the Joker.”

“You have a patient among those guys too, don’t you?”

“I had one, yes. Victor Zsasz.”

“Holy Guacamole. Wouldn’t want to trade for a fortune.” She laughed again.

“Well, there seemingly is a person who wants to trade. A colleague and friend of mine is currently taking him over as her patient. When I… was sick for a couple of weeks she had to step in for me and we both think it’s better if we keep it that way.”

“I haven’t noticed you were gone for long.”

“It interfered with your recovery weeks some time ago. She’s managing well and I just help her with the paper work I hadn’t finished.”

“Planning on taking over a new patient?”

“No. My night shifts over there are more than enough. I enjoy my time with the normal ones over here.”

“I’m not entirely sure whether I like being called normal. Makes me sound so ordinary. And even if I was sane – sorry, if my mind didn’t have HIV – I’d still not want to be called normal.”

“Like I said, you’re a special one. I gotta run, sorry. I’ll find a solution for your emergency exit. Until then would you prefer to be completely sedated or just a little more knocked out?”

“Just a little. Maybe that’s the magical step.”

“You’re driving me nuts. That’s pure, innocent optimism. You’re a hell lotta work, Jasmine.”

“The goal was you curing my insanity and not me fixing your sanity. We had that today and I’m sure you don’t want to end up like Dr. Quinzel.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’d never dare!” She smiled at me and left.

 

***

 

“You know, I’m getting soft spending all the time here. My night shifts are starting to give me the creeps.” I was grateful that she started our conversation like this instead of accusations.

“Is it that different here?”

“Despite not being afraid of being murdered? Yes. You’re here at the psychiatric youth facility or PYF, as you know. This is the newest facility and therefore it looks best. Moreover we received a generous donation from the Wayne family or more from Bruce Wayne’s inheritance  or more from one of his foundations and whereas we should use it to clean up the other facilities, we use it to strengthen this part, the psychiatric facility and our visitor center.”

“How come?”

“There’s barely a week without any incidents at the medical or intensive and there’s seemingly no use in tidying when all progress is destroyed within a week. We wouldn’t even know where to start. The conditions over there are medieval. So I really enjoy being here.”

“I can believe it.”

“You’re losing your feeling of control again, aren’t you?” That was a sudden switch of topics. I nodded. “What is it you can’t control anymore?”

“I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe my life. Being here makes me so helpless. I can’t even manage daily life. Can’t take care of myself. And I know that refusing to eat isn’t exactly a step towards self-care but at least I can control it. When I eat, how much I eat. And in comparison to the surge to hurt myself I can always fight down the hunger.”

“Would some structure help you?”

“I don’t know. Having a depressive time might just catalyze it. When I can’t accomplish the additional tasks the control slips even further.”

“Got your point. How are your destructive thoughts doing?”

“Good. And by good I mean they disappeared without saying good bye. They are gone. The depression is still there. I don’t have any motivation for anything. I feel like the weight of the world rests on my shoulders for no apparent reason. But I don’t hate myself nor do I want to hurt myself or even kill myself. Admittedly there’s a slight temptation to hurt myself to get some motivation. A rush as a treatment. It’s now more an addiction than ever before.”

“Then let’s just treat it as such. I’ll treat you for every day you stay clean.”

“You know what’s worst for me?” She didn’t react at all, just stared me in the eyes and waited for me to continue. “That I know it all. Even when I’m desperate as fu-as fudge and already have the blade touching my skin I know it. Every time I refuse myself to eat or sleep there’s that voice in my head explaining every tiny-winey detail of my shitty behavior. And still I can’t fight it. That voice is like a Mom talking to her pubescent child. My willpower is the child. Maybe not even my willpower. I don’t have a name for it yet. In the end, everything I do I do against better knowledge.”

“Maybe that’s also an addiction to you. Have you ever let yourself go? Have you ever been drunk or high or had sex that made you lose your mind? Have you ever tried to not control yourself?” I took a moment to think about it. Then I shook my head.

“You know that I’m anxious around people and all those things involve people. I can’t get drunk for obvious reasons. I might embarrass myself and people will talk and no thanks. And home alone, that’s pathetic. I don’t do drugs and my medication here proves me right. And referring to both of them, my potential to develop an addiction appears to be uncomfortably high. I honestly do not need that. I did have a boyfriend and we did have sex but… I didn’t let it happen often and when I did I was never able to believe him. That I was pretty and that he loved me and stuff. And when we were on it my mind was spinning in circles. Ridiculously it was mostly about why I can’t just let go and feel.”

“Did you love him?”

“I didn’t even love myself.”

“That is not an answer. Some people enlighten in their love for others. It might result in worshipping and obsession, but always look on the bright side.”

“Not me. I don’t think I did.”

“Ever questioned his qualities in bed?” I snorted.

“Being that girl who lies on her back, unmoving and too anxious to even touch the person she’s currently having sex with I frankly don’t think I’m the one to judge.”

“Ever questioned your sexuality?”

“Sure. No results yet, though. I’ve never been in love but I thought it to be part of ‘before you can love someone else you have to be able to love yourself’-philosophy. And I don’t want to push it anymore. When I fall in love I will do so. If I feel attracted to someone I might want to have sex with them. And until then I’m fine with it.”

“Very mature.”

“I keep telling that myself until the doubts kick in and I start to wonder whether I’m not normal or maybe just gay or asexual and why would that be bad? I wouldn’t necessarily have a family and finding a partner is hell of a lot more difficult than it already is. On the other hand, heterosexuality is no guarantee for a happy relationship or even a family with children. And that’s what I think about when I start to doubt. When I get suicidal my future is torn apart and ripped to pieces and my sexuality my least concern.” There was a brief pause and I was utterly sure that Dr. Cassidy suppressed a sigh.

“You know, when you try to set IQ and probability of mental illness in relation, there are two peaks. One at the beginning and one at the ending of the scale. The people with a comparatively low respectively high IQ. Unfortunately, research is still in its baby shoes, but spoken statistically there might be a connection. And we haven’t taken an IQ-test with you yet but I’m rather sure you’d be a fitting example for the upper part.”

“Just for the thoughts that every teenaged girl has at some point?”

“No. First of all, not every girl at that age has those thoughts. And secondly, I know you quite some time now. This assumption is more based on what I witnessed those past months than what you just said. The thought just crossed my mind.”

“All of Arkham’s high society is going to contribute to that thesis. I mean, how many have not finished college? How many do not have a degree of some kind?”

“Now I’m giving away information I probably shouldn’t, but it ain’t gonna hurt anyone. When it comes to our inmates and not the ones at Blackgate, you’re right. Croc would be one of the very few. We know nothing about the Joker. So no information there. Clayface is actually mostly here because we can contain him and he was an actor. But Pamela, Harleen, Harvey, Fries, Crane, Tetch… They all graduated. Had really good jobs. Scientists, psychiatrist, lawyer, engineer, biologist. Though not all of them are alive anymore.”

“Being a villain never had a good health plan. Nor did being a vigilante, to be honest.”

“I’m honestly waiting for one of them sitting here. For one reason or another.”

“In comparison to people like them I always feel horrible. What have I seen, what have I done in comparison to them? And yet I’m the one who has a bad time with dealing with the reality and not them who have seen so much worse.”

“You suffer from a disease and hormonal imbalance that you couldn’t even help if everything worked in your favor. And believe me, they have their own struggles. The nurse told me you threw up the other day,” she stated matter-of-factly and suddenly we were back to day-to-day-business and me and my health.

“Right. About that one…” I hesitated.

“You don't have to justify yourself. Tell me why and we can talk about it or leave it be for today and go on.”

“That easy?”

“That easy.” I swallowed. It might seem easy in comparison to the countless times when we analyzed my habits and patterns bit by bit but talking about such things never came easy.

“I was so disgusted by myself. I was on my way to the group session and couldn't stand myself because I did nothing but languishing and I knew I was a disappointment to everyone I was about to see if they knew but nobody did because I had created a facade made of lies and smiles and they don't know and think I'm fine or as fine as I could be but I'm not and I want to scream it out and want the world to know and I want them to take care of me but they'd be just as disgusted as me if they knew what I'm doing to myself and I can't tell them and it's killing me and I know it's hypocrisy at its finest but I can't help it and the knowledge that they have been or seen worse doesn't help me because I don't want to be part of worse or bad, I want to be better, I want to heal but I don't and I feel devastated in moments like these because there was a glimpse of hope but now I'm on my knees in the bathroom, my hair dripping with vomit, my throat burning from the acid, my stomach still cramping though there's nothing left to give and my hands are trembling, my body shaken by the sobs and everything is in a blur because I'm crying and it hurts. Everything just fucking hurts. “ I stared at the floor in front of me, desperate and angry tears flowing over my face. The soft touch on my shoulder brought me back from the memory and the feeling of Dr. Cassidy's hand stroking my back were soothing. When I had calmed down a little, we both straightened up a little but she kept my hand in hers and held it.

"I can understand that it's a little overwhelming for you at the moment. We're fighting three major battles at once and that's even more than I'd suggest a stable person to do. We can't back up from the fight for proper medication now. And I'd really appreciate if you'd stick to the group therapy sessions. But you get to decide about your meals. Not entirely, but almost. You have to have one entire proper meal a day and three snacks replace a meal. So the least you should eat are 2 meals or one meal and three snacks. And when you feel up to it, another snack or meal. Sounds good?" I carefully nodded. "I'll tell the nurse about it and if you haven't had a meal the entire day she has my permission to take you to dinner. Other than that, you're free." I nodded again. I could do that. Though people were more difficult to tolerate than food, it was fine. More than I could have hoped for. I could do this. "Alright. I hate schedules but I gotta go. Tomorrow I'll pick you up, alright? We don't have an appointment before your parents come over. Do you want to stay for our talk or wait?"

"I'll just wait. I'm happy to be a little oblivious to the medical aspects of all this."

"Sure. So 2:30 tomorrow. And believe me, they'd be happy if you'd had lunch before."

"I'll try. See you tomorrow."

"Have a nice day, Jasmine."

 

As Dr. Cassidy had proposed, I joined the others fur lunch. Luckily it was rice with a very mild curry, something I actually liked. Else I might have changed my mind. I had lost my feeling of hunger to a point where one small chocolate bar fed me for an entire day - five days in a row. Maybe even longer. My reason had intervened after five days and forced me to eat something with some more calories, proteins and minerals. If for nothing else, then at least to counter the impressive amount of caffeine in my blood. So hunger hasn't been a reason to eat for months. Responsibility, reason and a bad conscience were better motivators - but only when I remotely liked whatever food was placed in front of me. I wasn't especially picky when it came to food but I was still eating with my fellow eating disorder patients and we were handed only meals that were highly nutritious, as tasty as possible and most important gentle to a digestion that hadn't seen real food possibly weeks or were conditioned to throw up a couple of minutes later. Spices were a no-go and therefore food was rather plain and the diversity limited.

At 2:30 p.m. sharp the next day Dr. Cassidy knocked at my door to pick me up. One of the few perks of being a long-term resident was that I didn’t have to share my room. Usually, there were at least two beds in each room and the inhabitants were carefully selected. For example, were there never two guys with an eating disorder in one room and if there was no other way they made sure that their disease made their weight shift to opposite directions. Especially among anorexic patients competitive thinking wasn’t unusual. And them sharing a room made it easier to pick up on strategies how to avoid eating or doing sports which they usually wouldn’t share. Admittedly, there was a certain entertainment in witnessing the social dynamics in a mad house. A thought I never voiced – for obvious reasons.

“You look good today.”

“It’s not too obvious that I try to do so?”

“Not for someone who sees you once a month.”

“Geez, that’s flattering.”

“I told you, you look good. Shall we?” I nodded and followed her lead. The rays of sunshine that glimpsed through the grey clouds made me squint.

“My oh my, sun in May. What’s going to be next? Harvey Dent rehabilitated and running for mayor?”

“Oh Jasmine, never ever lose your sense of humor. Besides, I just can’t get rid of the feeling that you know more about the Asylum’s high society than you’re supposed to.”

“Only careful research. And that workshop. Wouldn’t you want to know about your neighbors when you lived somewhere for over a year?” She chuckled.

“What would I give to hear a conversation when you join school again. I imagine it to start with someone in your new class asking you where you live and you just respond that you just moved back a couple of weeks ago so you can’t really say what it’s like and what has changed. Then he or she asks where you lived before and you answer in your own dry and nonchalant way that it was nothing special, a single room in a dormitory – but hey, you lived next door to the Clown Queen of Crime, her best friend Harvey and some other guys from their community.” I smiled over that.

“I really like how you picture me. And to you I’d totally say that. But first days at school? I’m happy when I get out a single word.”

“Oh you will, Jasmine. I’m sure you will.”

Dr. Cassidy dropped me at the common room so I could wait until she was done talking to my parents. I distracted myself with sketching. I had brought my sketchbook so I could show my parents that I drew again. And that those sketches were not my usual abstract depression-driven sketches. At least not all of them. Forty minutes later they finally entered the room. It took all my containment to not run to my Mom and hug her like a little girl, but I managed. Instead I calmly set the pencil aside, got up from my chair and hugged her as if my life depended on it.

“Hey little witch,” she greeted me with soft voice and patted my back. I enjoyed the sensation for a moment, then I let go to hug my Dad.

“Hey sweetie. You look good.” My smile grew wider.

“Thanks. So, how are you?,“ I wanted to know as we sat down.

“We’re good. Doesn’t happen much these days. But Dr. Cassidy send us with a message to you.“

“She’s getting old, right? We saw each other just half an hour ago.”

“Actually, she intended us to deliver the good news.” They both smiled excitedly and I shifted curiously on my chair. “The exact message was that, when you stick to your agreement with Dr. Cassidy until the end of the month, you get one weekend at home. Each month.” My eyes widened in disbelief.

“No freaking way!”

“Yes way. We don’t know what your deal is about but Dr. Cassidy believes in you. She said as long as depression doesn’t hit you – and I quote – ‘like a brick wall right in the face’ it’s just a matter of strong will. And she said that you agreed on attempting to treat it – and I repeat, we do not know what it is – like an addiction and that’s going to be your reward.”

“Oh my God! I promise you, I’ll try. As hard as I can. But don’t be mad if I should fail.”

“You could never fail us, honey. We finally see that you’re getting much better and if it takes some more time so be it. Dr. Cassidy appears to be doing a great job with you and we saw that she cares about you.” I felt tears burning in the corners of my eyes and my Mom hugged me. “Don’t cry, little witch. Don’t cry.” Now I started to sob pathetically. It didn’t really matter. I was so overwhelmed that there was finally a silver lining I couldn’t hold back. We risked quite a bit of my sanity. Because even though my parents assured me that it’d be no big deal if I didn’t make it till the end of the month I’d blame myself. And when I didn’t make it because of my damned depression, self-doubts and accusations were just the thing I needed. But right now I needed hope – and a goal to accomplish.

Slowly I managed to calm down, but didn’t let go of my Mom just yet. It felt so good to be held warm and tight.

“Would you mind elaborating on what _it_ actually is?”

“Actually it’s just daily life business. Eating three meals a day, dealing with challenges in a… healthy manner. Nothing special.”

“From what I see you’re already doing… better.”

“I’m doing differently bad. Say it as it is.”

“That’s a nice way to put it. I lacked words.” Who could blame her? Talking about my mental health was like walking through a minefield or balancing on a high rope. “It’s odd. Seeing you like that, I mean. On the one hand it’s relieving to see your arms heal on the other hand you feel like you’re only half as much as you were a month ago. But your Dad is right, you look-” The deafening sound of a siren cut off her word. Immediately I forced myself to stay calm and shrug it off.

_This is a security announcement. Please all return to your facilities and enter the closest panic room. This is no exercise. The visitors shall return to the harbor where a ferry is already waiting. Please remain calm and follow the orders immediately. This is a security announcement…_

“Well, that ended badly. It was nice to see you again. And hey, maybe I’ll visit you next month.” My parents were clearly frozen in shock. “Please, return to the harbor.”

“But we can’t leave you-“

“I’m safe here. If this is another breakout there’s actually barely a safer place than this island. I’m more worried about you. Move! This island might be safe as soon as he or she has successfully escaped but until then there’s a maniac on the loose and I’m not talking about myself. And I’d rather spend the time locked in a panic room than here. It’s not the first time, you know.” Finally they nodded.

“You should still come with us.”

“Can’t say I don’t want to but I’ve been enjoying my sanity lately and when I leave this place I wanna go for good. Or for a weekends visit. Now go!” Finally they moved and I watched them leave, smiling. As soon as I was sure that they were gone my smile was as well and I started to run. My malnourished body would hate me for this later but my life might depend on my speed so I didn't care. The most dangerous part was crossing the island and instead of taking the short way I decided to play it safe and risked taking a bit longer. Running straight from visitor's to PYF would have given me no possibility to hide when needed and I knew there was a load of weapons on this island. Usually they were for the guards to keep Croc, Bane or simply anyone in check, but with those lunatics on the lose you never knew where they ended up.

Suddenly the security announcement which had been perpetually repeating itself cracked and I instinctively ducked for cover.

“ _This is an amusement announcement. Please start to laugh. Alternatively, panic is allowed._ ” My blood froze and my mind had already made the decision to stick with the latter proposition. Everybody in whole Gotham knew this voice. “ _This is still no exercise. After the visitors had been so nice to trap themselves on an unguarded ferry and you, my fellow maniacs, are locked in your panic rooms and are therefore already divided into your teams, I will soon have the pleasure to introduce your team leaders to you. But for now, I’ll have to clear the field and wipe out whoever lost at our first game: tag._ ” I threw up. I had known that running was no good in my physical condition and the threat didn’t make it any better. Benefits of having had lunch today were that it wasn’t only burning acid. Cons were that the amount was disgustingly bigger. If I had known what’d happen I’d have skipped lunch. After my stomach calmed a little I spit out and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. It was disgusting but some part of my mind was ahead of me and started to evaluate the situation. Said part was also somehow managing to keep my fear and panic in check. I’d have to thank that part later and convince it to stay. Maybe I could bribe it somehow. Back to the neutral analysis: The freaking Joker had taken over Arkham Asylum and had decided to play one of his wicked games with _us_. Or at least that was what we were supposed to believe. For all I knew, Joker was dead. And yet... God, it had to be Christmas! Moreover he had just proclaimed that I was a dead girl walking and if I wanted to prevent that part I had to hide. Just that instant I heard a man shouting:

“’Kay guys, team red’s taking the cemetery, team green’s taking the botanical garden, team yellow everything this way and blue everything this way. ‘S that understood?” I heard affirmative mumbling. “Let’s get going. We don’t wanna make’em wait, do we?” For a second I wondered where all those thugs came from, but I quickly dropped the thought and moved instead. Those were big, bulky men. I was a small, thin girl. Time to take advantage of it. I glanced around, trying to find a spot to hide that was close but the only ones I saw I couldn’t reach without being spotted immediately. Just my freaking luck. I had to risk it anyway. I already heard their harsh steps, saw the lights of the flashlights wander over the grass, bushes, tombstones. With a little luck there’d be one for me too when this was over. Not so much luck and there’d be no way to legally declare me dead because of a missing or distorted body. My mind was a place full of joy in situations like these. At least I didn’t panic – yet.

The lights were coming from my left side, so I sneaked to the left, praying to not be seen. And it worked. I was hiding behind the next bush, carefully watching my predators as they moved closer. There was a pile of stones nearby with a small, cave-like gap ten feet high. It was entirely possible to climb up there and I was slim enough to fit in whereas the men would have quite some trouble therewith. But climbing meant pinning a target on my back. But down here I was going to be spotted sooner or later anyways.  The sun hadn’t fully set which would have been an advantage and out of the 364 rainy days in Gotham today had to be the one with cracks in the cloudy firmament.

“Hey, I saw something moving!” Oh crap. I remained unmoving behind a larger rock and tried to keep my breath shallow. I heard them coming closer.

“Hey! Stay there!” I wasn’t moving. And even if I wanted to I was certain I couldn’t right now. “I said stay there! Move again and I’ll shoot!”

“You’ll shoot me anyway!” Oh good. They didn’t see me. They saw a boy in his early teens. Peachy. The thugs laughed.

“Naw, ain’t gonna shoot ya, kid. Promise.”

“As if.” They laughed. Damn, he had guts.

“Joker don’t want ya dead. Waitin’ for special guest he said.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Well, if ya don’t come down I’ll make ya. Don’t have to shoot ya. Just the branch you’re sitting on.” There was silence for a moment.

“Hang on, I’ll come down.” I heard the cracking of twigs and a sound I only knew from movies. This was the sound of a gun being unlocked. Or locked, but my optimism ran away the second it heard the siren.

“You said you won’t shoot!” the boy screamed. I was astounded. He was angry. Not peeing his pants and afraid for his life but angry because of the betrayal. He really had guts.

“Won’t shoot ya. Just make sure you ain’t running nowhere when your feet touch da ground, right?”

“I don’t run, you don’t shoot.”

“Damn right. Where d’ya belong to, huh?”

“Ferry. I’m here for a visit.” I could only feel pity for him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had a colorful life out there.

“Huh. Should bring ya to da boss then. Don’t know whatta do with ya. All the other folks we’d bring to their homes, ya know. But ferry? No idea. Sorry pal. Seem like a nice kid.” I heard steps and admired the kid. When I’d be threatened to face the Joker I’d be screaming like mad.  “You keep searching while I hand him over, got it? You come with me.” The moment they began to move, I shifted to the opposite direction. My brain told me it was almost human instinct to watch someone leave and though I couldn’t see them, there weren’t many possibilities to go. My blood raced through my veins and I felt my heartbeat in my entire body. I was shaking again. Probably never stopped.

Suddenly, the bush I was hiding behind was tinted in white light and I froze. I didn't dare to breathe and blankly stared at the twig in front of me, silently praying to not be discovered. But just as sudden as the flashlight had shifted to my hideout it moved on. I gasped for air like a fish on land, as if I’d been underwater for a fair minute and not frozen in shock for barely 15 seconds. Climb. I had to climb and I had to do it quick. For a start, moving would have been enough. I couldn’t.

“You done there?”

“Just gotta check those rock, then I’ll be back. Funny how fast those maniacs can run given the right motivation, huh?”

“Whatever.” When I heard his steps on the soft grass, my body remembered how to move. I darted up and climbed. He’d see me. Probably already had. But remaining hidden where I had been came equal to surrendering without a fight. And I had those goddamned thoughts in check for too long. Surrender wasn’t an option. Hadn’t been for exactly sixty-eight days now. And now that I was momentarily overcoming my own demons I wouldn’t surrender to those morons. Not gonna happen.

„Hey! I found someone!“ I wasn’t surprised by the yelling, not at all, but that didn’t mean it didn’t frighten me to the bones. I hurried, tried to convince my shaking hands to move faster, my weak arms to pull my weight up. Fingers closed around my ankle and I gasped, a shrill scream escaping my mouth. I kicked back, lost my shoe but came free and climbed the last centimeters into the cave. They couldn’t get in here. I crawled as far to the back as possible and picked up a stone. It wasn’t a powerful weapon but there was a reason everybody referred to sticks and stones when it came to pain.

My breath hitched when someone tried to sneak into my cave. He didn’t get far but his arm was reaching in, almost touching me – I lifted the stone and smashed it on his fingers, earning a painful cry. The hand withdrew.

“Is that kid giving you trouble?”

“Stupid bitch broke my fingers!,” he cursed and I heard him climb down. “No way we’ll reach her.”

“Guess we’ll have to convince her to come out then.”

“And how?” Yeah, I was wondering about that one as well.

“Hey, princess!” Oh, bite me! “Rapunzel!” The other thugs laughed and I rolled my eyes.

“What?!”

“Care to come down and join us?”

“Yeah, right. If I thought that to be a good idea I wouldn’t have climbed up here in first place.” My sarcasm took overhand while tears of fear ran down my cheeks. My voice sounded hoarse but strangely strong.

“Then let’s turn it into an offer. You come down, we ain’t gonna harm ya and we’ll guide ya to your panic room.”

“Else?” The sound of the bullet hitting the rock above me thundered through the night and my ears rang horribly. Gravel was raining down but despite that the rock luckily stayed where it was.

“You take my offer now?” Instead of answering I just moved and climbed down again. My strength was leaving me again and I almost fell twice. The height wasn’t enough to do me more harm than a broken bone and that’s why I paid even more attention. Hobbling over Arkham with a broken ankle was not nearly as pleasant as being unconscious for several minutes. “I knew we’d come to an agreement somehow. I know I said we wouldn’t hurt ya and that’s true for me but… See Billy over there? You broke at least three of his fingers. He’s pissed, ya know?” I backed away until I hit the stones, my eyes widened in fear. I knew I could take some pain if I needed to but I was terrified of the damage.

“I think she can make up for it.” My eyes slid to the man whose fingers I broke and I almost regretted it. He was all muscles and in comparison to the other ones he seemed almost small but his broad, intimidating shoulders made up for it twice. I tried to brace myself but when his healthy hand went for his belt I lost it. My stomach did backflips, my breath picked up its pace again and all in all I started to panic, whimpering as he came closer.

“What are you doing?,” one of them asked.

“What does it look like?” His smirk was dirty and I pressed myself against the rough rocks behind me.

“First of all, I mean it. What are you doing? Let her suck you off? She’s a crybaby, but she’ll bite. Fuck her? Just look at her! She’ll break the moment you spread her legs, she’s thin as a stick! And secondly, it’s disgusting.”

“When did you buy your morals?”

“I don’t mean to rape her. I mean her. Her body is thin, nothing to touch and the last time she made herself throw up is probably only hours ago. Damn, even given the chance I wouldn’t want her to suck my cock. Or touch her and grab her wrists only to have my handy covered in blood. I mean I don’t mind blood on my hands but ripping open those cuts she did to herself? Not a pleasant thought. You know, you probably should take her. Might be the last time she’s getting it anyway. Even if she’ll make it through the night. I mean she’s scarred all over. To a woman, men with scars are nice to look at, strong and dangerous. But a girl with that many flaws on her skin? Let’s just see how far up they go…” He approached me and before I could react he ripped my shirt off my body. I tried to cover myself with my hands but there was no use.

“Damn, she looks worse than Zsasz. And has more hair on her chest as well.” The men roared of laughter and my knees gave in.

“But my dear Gentlemen, that’s not a way to talk to a lady, is it?” As abrupt as the laughter commenced, it stopped. Now the only sound was my pathetic sobbing, whimpering, crying. My gaze was locked to the ground and even when I heard footsteps I couldn’t look away. When I sensed a hand reaching for me, I shied away.

“No!” What was supposed to be a scream was merely a choked sound. “Don’t touch me!,” I begged quietly and the tears which never really stopped were flooding over my face again, dripping on my naked skin and reminding me how ugly I was.

“I am sorry. I didn’t intend to harm you. But please, take my jacket to cover yourself.” I felt soft fabric brushing over my skin and I grabbed it, squirmed my arms into the sleeves and tugged it tightly around me. The man who came to my rescue ordered the others to finish their search and leave already but I didn’t actually listen. I was busy with calming myself. Miraculously, it worked and I managed to sit up. I let my gaze wander and recognized the man who rescued me. Not that he was especially easy to confuse for someone else. I couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped me. My knight in shining armor was Harvey freaking Dent.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on my [Tumblr](https://melodious-me.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
